


Evergreen

by ThatOneWriter15



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, F/M, Firefighter Dean Winchester, Fluff, POV Third Person, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:26:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27803767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneWriter15/pseuds/ThatOneWriter15
Summary: On a whim, she delivers a gift to a local firehouse. Turns out, there's a green-eyed gift waiting forher.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46





	Evergreen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnotherSPNfanfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherSPNfanfic/gifts).



Snow clouds hang heavy in the early-winter sky as she peers out the window above the kitchen sink. 

A historic blizzard is forecasted to hit near nightfall--two days before Christmas. On one hand, all will be dressed in white for Santa’s arrival. On the other, traveling home for the holiday is out of the question. After hearing about the impending storm, she hoped to start her break earlier, but her boss refused. Being a newbie at work--and in town--has its faults. So, this year, her Christmas company consists of her two Huskies. 

Well, the dogs _and_ the ingredients for enough cookies to feed a small army. She frowns at the stuffed shopping bags taunting her from atop the refrigerator. What a waste… 

The fire whistle from a few blocks away begins to wail, and the furry friends at her feet sing along. Something clicks in her mind. 

“Oh, you’re geniuses!” she gushes at the pups, and smooches both on the snout. “Where did I put my apron…?”

*** 

Suppressing a shiver, she strolls down the sidewalk with an enormous aluminum platter. Her gloves aren’t doing her any favors in her crossbody bag, but they lack traction, and the last thing she wants is to drop the 200 cookies she spent the entire afternoon baking.

At the sight of the fire station, she expels a sigh of relief that’s visible in the December air. A truck donning a wreath on its grill sits in the only open stall of the garage. Strands of multi-colored lights frame the building all the way up to the peak of the roof. The place feels surprisingly welcoming, and it thaws her lonely heart.

Movement brings her attention to the fire engine. The driver’s door is ajar, but she can’t spot anyone through the windshield. 

“Hey, excuse me?” she calls gently, afraid of startling them. 

Boots land on concrete, and the sound echoes around the hall. When the truck’s door slams shut, her mouth opens. 

The man before her puts all the firefighters she’s seen in shows and movies to shame. He’s… _large_ \--quite tall with a robust torso that clings to his long-sleeve navy shirt--but also somehow delicate. The angle of his jaw falls in the “works of art” category, and his extensive eyelashes are perceptible from eight feet away.

As he approaches her, she forces herself to stop _gawking_ with a harsh blink and a clearing of her throat.

“Can I help you, sweetheart?” he asks, complete with a hint of a smirk. But the tips of his ears tint pink, and she’s convinced it’s not from the cold. The suggestion of shyness makes him both more charming and more accessible. 

She regains the ability to speak. “I, uh, just moved in a couple blocks over…” She attempts to gesture in the general direction of her house and, too late, remembers her hands are occupied. The slight twist of her spine is the best indication she offers. Very smooth.

He seems unfazed. “Ahh. Welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Dean.” 

She shares her name without hesitation. Her gaze lowers to the covered tray. “Anyway, I figured working during the holidays would be kinda tough, so I brought you-- _your team_ \--some homemade cookies.”

The full smile he responds with--it’s brighter than the most decked-out Christmas tree. “Are there snickerdoodles?” 

“Do you think I’m a monster?” she teases. “ _Of course_ there are.” They laugh in harmony, and it leaves her weightless.

“Well, thank you. Seriously.” His tongue slips over his plush bottom lip, and he accepts her gift. “We’ll be lucky if these last 15 minutes in the common room.”

“Pace yourselves,” she orders with false caution.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The silence that blankets them is comfortable and, dare she dream, promising. Dean’s eyes hold hers in their evergreen gaze as the first flurries of the storm begin to flutter from the sky. 

She should really return home before the snow picks up. “Hope you enjoy.” She takes a step toward the road, and she swears Dean looks disappointed for a moment.

“Trust me, that won’t be a problem,” he assures her with a wink. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Yeah, you, too.” She walks away, and something like guilt settles in her chest as she rummages in her bag for her gloves. Her fingers locate an old steakhouse receipt first, and she can’t resist the temptation. Snagging a pen, she quickly scribbles on the scrap of paper.

His back is to her, but he hasn’t made it indoors yet. 

“Dean!” She jogs to meet him, his expression curious and disbelieving. “Forgot this.” She doesn’t lay the receipt on top of the cookies, she forces him to balance the tray with one hand and grasp the paper with the other.

She’s on her way out again as he unfolds the little sheet. Pausing to watch him, she catches the second he realizes he possesses her phone number. His jaw goes slightly slack, and she waves goodbye. 

Pride and possibility keep her cozy the whole trip home.


End file.
